


Cold Blood

by Mangacat



Series: Blood!Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-05
Updated: 2010-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was this one time, when Dean wasn’t himself and didn’t care that Sam wasn’t either. Now he’s cured and the revelations of the waning night opened a chasm between them that seems impossible to overcome. So why won’t the need just stop?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Major spoilers for Ep 6X5 and coda 6X6. 
> 
> A/N: This is a companion piece for ‘Thicker Than Blood’, which you don’t necessarily have to have read, but I strongly recommend it. That also makes this the second installment of the Blood!Verse, halleluja.

“Nothing scares me anymore.”

_ Thu-thump _

“I can’t feel it.”

_ Thu-thump _

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me”

_ thu-th… _

~*~

He stares down at his split knuckles where his blood mingles with Sam’s, absently wondering if this will have any kind of effect on him. The goddess said that Sam wasn’t human and if he can trust any one of those bitches to actually tell the truth it’s got to be her. Still, as the haze of burning anger slowly disspates in front of his eyes and the scent of blood in the air suddenly becomes dominant again he slams his eyes shut and sways for a moment, balling his fist tighter to keep it from shaking. For all the stark and painful truths that Sam revealed just now, he has no idea what kind of secrets Dean has been keeping. They might not know what’s wrong with Sam exactly, but Dean’s very well aware of what makes him _not quite human anymore._

_ ~”The feel of the poison spreading through his body, changing him cell by cell, rotting him to the core…”~ _

Oh, Samuel was right, the cure is good and changed his body back from a blood-crazed menace to a non-infectuous human. What they didn’t consider though is the fact that the touch of darkness leaves a mark on you that can’t ever be erased completely. There’s blood you can wash off after a hunt and there’s the kind that sticks to your fingers forever, tainting anything you touch. And this isn’t only about his botched relationship with Lisa or worse the loss of Ben’s trust in him. It’s the fact that he can identify four different types of blood in here by scent alone. It’s the phantom ache in his gums that started the very moment he set foot into this room and hasn’t stopped since. It’s the dreams, the memory of Sam, Sam, _Sam…_ mingled with something that might have been, but wasn’t.

_ ~”He didn’t start this, but he’s damn well going to finish it.”~  _

He doesn’t remember getting Sam into the car – or out of it again for that matter – for he comes to again in front of their hotelroom door. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to lug Sam’s unresponsive body around just like that, but by the time he thinks about it, he’s already got him in the room and dumped on one of the beds. He is not really sure what’s going to happen next. Suddenly everything hangs in a precarious balance somewhere _inbetween_ with so many roads ahead and no way to determine the right one. He does what he can, going through the motions: dragging Sam’s heavy boots off his feet, getting out the first aid kit to clean up the wounds as if this is just the end of another drunken night with a barfight. 

_ ~” _ _ It’s just a hair’s breadth short of the real thing, just like having Sam sit in the car next to him again is a hair’s breadth short of the real thing, too.”~ _

Dean opens the phone, scrolls to Bobby’s number and stares at it for seconds, his mind completely blank. What is there to say? That he was right? That he was wrong? That he has no idea where this leaves them or what to do next? He snaps the phone closed and puts it down onto the table, observing the room for a moment. The empty bed is bathed in white light from the moon and the streetlamp outside their window, but the rest of the room is mainly shrouded in shadows. His eyes wander to Sam’s unconscious form on the other bed, face turned towards the light, the bruises hidden by the shadows on his profile, hands on his abdomen, splayed and still. Only a minute movement betrays the air that is flowing into Sam’s lungs with every breath and suddenly the display is a mockery of the agonizing image that was branded into Dean’s memory so many years ago. He has to lean back against the table, hands grasping the fake wood until it creaks precariously. The rush of dizziness lets up a little, but he still wants to go over, to touch, to sink his fingers into the skin above Sam’s heart to make sure it’s still beating as loud and steady as he remembers it even when the blood it pumps is cold as ice.

_ ~”He feels exposed, measured, assessed with that one cold look and suddenly feels nothing at all.”~ _

All the anger and confusion and hurt that settled in his bones should make it impossible for him to drift off, but the adrenaline is fading fast. Suddenly, he feels drained, tired far beyond his years and it’s impossible to keep his eyes open. 

_ …His fingernails rake over golden skin and the sweat tastes sharp and musky where he samples it with his tongue. The muscles yield under his possesive touch, tamed and pliant, controlled strength running like a current underneath. It’s an endless slip and slide, a rolling motion that brings with it this dizzying height. The blood rushing right under the surface taunts him along with the racing pulse that thunders in his ears. It spirals slowly upward with an unrelenting pace. At its peak, he growls deep in his throat before his fangs sink right in, rending flesh apart, letting the precious liquid gush over his lips like an offering, coating his skin, quenching that unbelievable urge that’s been tearing at him all this time… _

His own sharp breath startles him awake, but he can barely shake off the remnants of the of the vivid dream before he senses tell him that something is different in the room. His eyes flit over to the beds instantly and find them empty. With a hitched breath, he cases the room and finds Sam’s presence after another second ticks by. There, in the corner next to the window, arms crossed over his half bared chest, his brother stands tall and unmoving, face averted with his eyes trained out of the window, staring at God knows what behind the glass. As soon as he feels Dean’s eyes on him, Sam moves his own to meet them, but his face stays utterly blank and cold as stone. 

_ ~”This is just between them both, a settlement that is long overdue.”~ _

They remain silent and still for a heartbeat and then Sam breaks their locked gazes to focus on whatever he was observing behind the window. The rejection and challenge is palpable in the air and within the blink of an eye, Dean is across the room. He absently registers that he might have moved faster than he should be able to, but the thought is drowned out by what comes next. His hand slides into the long hair, twists, tugs Sam’s head back to expose the smooth line of his neck in the pale light that shines through the window. Dean lets go and does what has been on his mind and in his dreams for weeks now, sinking his teeth into the strong muscle at the nape of Sam’s neck while his other hand roams over the naked chest up and under the open shirt to get it off, off, _off…_

Sam uncrosses his arms and lets himself be divested of his clothes, but otherwise he makes no move to acquiesce. Dean lets go of his neck to trace the strong jaw with his tongue, travelling upward to the spot where he split the skin on Sam’s cheekbone. His hand glides down into Sam’s open pants and claws into his thigh at the very same moment he places a biting kiss onto the bruise. Sam’s whole body flinches in his arms… _finally._

_ ~”The closed-off corner of his mind realizes that even at the receiving end of things, Sam is still in charge, using his body like a bargaining chip, as a means to an end.”~ _

He has no idea why he does it, there’s no bloodlust, no darkness, no hunger to excuse actions this time. Nothing except that overwhelming _need_ to feel, to feel this connection between them again that runs deeper than anything he has ever experienced before and to _make Sam feel it, too._

He is not some bargaining chip, some tool to string along and discard at a moment’s notice – he is a chosen one, a true hunter and his _brother,_ damnit. 

In a sudden fit of rage, he drags Sam to the closest bed and makes him kneel down on the spread, naked, open, exposed. Dean searches his eyes, doesn’t allow Sam to evade his gaze and what he finds is hurt, rejection and maybe the slightest glimmer of awe deep, deep down and buried behind a wall of indifference. Suddenly he knows, knows what this is and realizes that this is more of his hell than that prison of blood and flesh and pain ever was. He drags Sam forward into a bruising kiss, feels for his hands and puts them on his waist in an obvious gesture. It’s not right and it’s not wrong, it’s something _inbetween_ and that’s all they have right now. He lets go of Sam’s lips to continue his exploration, lips and tongue brushing over skin that tastes exactly like he remembers. Further down, he finds that thick, musky taste of sweat in the crease between Sam’s hip and thigh, but it’s not enough, never enough. Mindlessly, he feels around for the backpocket of his jeans and fishes out that small pocket knife. 

_ ~”There’s no room for niceties, no time for second thoughts.”~ _

When he flicks the knife open with a quiet click, Sam freezes under his touch. Dean straightens where he’s kneeling on the floor and grasps one of Sam’s wrists in a firm grip and bends it so that the inner part of his arm is turned upwards. He locks eyes with Sam, daring him to bail, to back out now before this goes any further, but Sam grinds his teeth and doesn’t back down. Slowly, Dean drags the knife over Sam’s arm. It’s sharp and little pressure is needed to part the first layers of skin and let a few drops of blood escape. The metallic smell fills his nose instantly the heady feeling intensifying with every pump of Sam’s heart he can feel through the thin skin of his wrist. The knife tumbles from his numb fingers and Dean can’t wait another second before bending down and gathering the first drops on the tip of his tongue. Then he latches his lips around the shallow cut and sucks more of the precious liquid out of the wound that will close up soon. The taste bursts into his mouth like a flame and the heat travels through his body all the way down into his belly where desire suddenly becomes apparent. This goes against anything he has ever believed or wanted, but it feels incredible and necessary and right. Above him, under him, around him he can hear Sam groan and tremble and the heat spreads and intensifies. 

_ ~”It’s fractured and broken and lies, deceit, dissonance, it’s love… it’s burning love that only leaves ashes in its wake.”~ _

Without letting go of Sam’s wrist he feels around, frantically searching for the lube that’s got to be somewhere in the vicinity of the bed. When he finally finds, he can barely think straight, but still has enough sense in him to put it to good use. This shouldn’t be so easy, but Sam opens up for him, lets himself be led by hands and looks alone. Still, Dean feels the resentment, the coldness and defiance simmering right under Sam’s skin and he knows that Sam could stop him any second but doesn’t want to. Might not be able to gather enough strength to defy him after all. Maybe this is penance. 

Maybe it’s something else entirely, there’s no way to know. 

Finally, they end up kneeling on the bed, locked in the most intimate of dances, a struggle for dominance, control over rhythm, touch, bites, kisses, sweat and Dean suddenly feels the cracks inside Sam. Rifts that reach as deep as the sea, all the way through the very core and he can’t begin fathom the pain that lies beneath. Sam might not be able to feel it, but Dean can and there lies madness, agony and a strange kind of pleasure that way. Everything starts to tumble and turn until there’s nothing but completition and coming down, starting to feel the boundaries of his own skin again. Their hearts are racing, chests heaving against each other and Dean finds words stuck in his throat that want to come out so badly he cannot fight them for long. With no mind who he’s actually addressing, whether it’s Sam, Heaven, Hell, or something else entirely, Dean whispers:

“I want my brother back.”

And for a split second, he sees what might have been a tear in the corner of Sam’s eye. 

The End


End file.
